


Another Stolen Moment

by SwiftEmera



Series: 30 Day OTP Porn Challenge (Vigilante Edition) [3]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Angst, Blowjobs, Facials, M/M, Masturbation, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-31
Updated: 2015-07-31
Packaged: 2018-04-12 07:46:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4471118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SwiftEmera/pseuds/SwiftEmera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oliver comes to an important realisation after he and Barry share a "moment" together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Another Stolen Moment

**Author's Note:**

> More porn! More angst! 
> 
> (I highly recommend you start from the beginning of the series so that you can follow the story - not that there's much of one, but there's a story nonetheless.)
> 
>  
> 
> **(Part 3 of the 30 Day OTP Porn Challenge - Body Fluids)**

Their stolen moments are few and far between, but fuck if they're not the best few moments of Oliver's otherwise messy, fucked up life.

Barry is on his knees before him, lips wrapped around his dick. His fingertips graze over Oliver's thigh, causing small tingling bursts of pleasure to break out on his skin. As he takes him down deeper, the wet heat tightening around him, Barry curls his free hand around his own cock, and he lets out a guttural groan as he begins to stroke himself. The vibrations in Barry's throat does wondrous things to Oliver's dick, and with a short gasp followed by ragged breath, Oliver threads his fingers through Barry's hair, setting up a firm grip.

Green eyes flicker up to meet his own, and Barry smirks around his dick, clearly proud of the effect that his attentions are having on Oliver. His tongue presses along the underside of his shaft, and Oliver runs his own tongue over his lips as he takes in the delicious sight.

At Barry's signal, he moves with care, gently thrusting into Barry's mouth with short pants, and Barry devours him hungrily with swollen lips, moving the hand that isn't working on his own dick to firmly meet Oliver's base, and his cheeks hollow so that Oliver is fully enveloped in heat from base to tip.

Breath quickening, Oliver rolls his head back, sounding out a loud groan as he sets a steady pace, fucking into the wet heat, but taking extra care not to thrust too hard or deep. He's flushed, trembling and sensitive all over, to the point where he can feel the smallest bead of sweat trail over the back of his thigh.

Soon enough, the controlled thrusts slip into something more carnal in a haze of wetness and warmth, and the beautiful strangled moans coming from Barry's throat. He speeds up a little, still watching Barry carefully for any signs of distress, but if anything, Barry takes it in his stride, his strokes on his own shaft becoming rougher, less disciplined, more erratic.

He can feel it building – his breathing rough and broken, his body trembling, simultaneously singing with pleasure and crying out for release.

With every ounce of control he has left, Oliver stops with a whimper, pulling himself out of the warmth altogether, and Barry gazes up at him in perplexity. Rather than offer any kind of vocal explanation, though, he just unthreads one of his hands from Barry's hair, still maintaining a firm grip with the other so that Barry doesn't think he's finished with him. His free hand reaches his dick, and he begins to pump the shaft roughly, still slick with Barry's saliva. Realisation dawn on Barry's face, and a mewl escapes him as Oliver stands over him, working himself to completion, their eyes locked together.

It's perhaps the most intimate thing they've done so far. There's just something about the unspoken understanding between them – the prolonged eye contact, the trust in Barry's eyes as he gazes up at him, the lack of need for verbalisation in order for them to understand exactly what Oliver wants. They move together seamlessly, and the sheer velocity of it should frighten Oliver to his core, but it just adds fuel to the flame of desire that resonates through his bones whenever he's in Barry's presence.

A choked sob escapes Oliver, and he's entirely too lost to let out any form of coherent warning before he's enveloped in a bright, startling light, and the fire pooling in his gut explodes. He keeps his eyes firmly fixed on Barry as his release trickles over his face, speckled drops landing on one of his cheeks and over his jaw, on his lower lip – painting him, claiming him as his own, and he hears Barry cry out from below him before he's spilling into his own hand.

His chest thuds, his fingers tremble in Barry's hair, and he lets out a slow, shaky breath as he gazes down at him. To see the other man marked in such a manner, Oliver can't help the flare of possessiveness that runs through him. Without much thought, he trails his finger over Barry's cheek, examining the liquid. It's thick, warm and slimy on his fingertips, and Barry smirks up at him, and in a swift movement, takes Oliver's coated fingers into his mouth, tongue swirling around the flesh, lapping up the release, and _holy fuck_ , that shouldn't be as hot as it is, but Oliver's throat constricts none-the-less. 

Still on his knees, Barry's gazing up at him with such reverence – such passion, such adoration, such affection, and Oliver's chest fills with warmth. There's no other word for it – Barry is absolutely beautiful, and Oliver's affection for him resonates through every fibre of his being.

He longs to just let go – to submit to his feelings for the other man, to whisk him away, carve out their own corner of the world away from all this madness, where there are no secret identities, no life threatening targets on their backs, nothing holding them back from being together in every way possible.

They could be so happy together. Maybe, in that life, they would get married – adopt a few kids to call their own. He'd be proud to call Barry his husband, and he would no doubt be envied by many.

It's a pipe dream, Oliver knows. This city needs him, as Central City needs The Flash, and Oliver cannot be  _The Arrow_ and allow himself to open his heart in such a manner. Barry is already his weakness. He can't allow his feelings to grow stronger, although at this point he wonders if that's even possible. He can't allow even the remotest chance that someone would catch onto his weakness, and hurt Barry in order to exploit it. 

It's a chance that Oliver is not willing to take, no matter how tempting. 

He also knows that he's not good enough for Barry. Oliver corrupts him with every touch. He's poison, working his way from the inside out, and he knows that he can't measure up to Barry in any way. Barry is the beauty of a bright summers day, and Oliver is as cold and dark as the harshest winter. They just cannot be.

With a sinking feeling, Oliver pries himself away, attempting to swallow the thick lump in his throat. Barry's eyes trail to the ground, and  _there it is again_ – that look. The one that tells him that Barry has no idea what Oliver feels for him – that Barry thinks that these encounters mean nothing to him. He looks broken, defeated, and he's shaking slightly, although it's obvious that he's trying to keep Oliver from seeing just how badly he's affected. 

He tears his eyes away, before moving into Barry's en-suite bathroom to clean himself up with his heart in his throat. On his way out, he hears Barry shuffle his feet on the carpet with a quiet sniffle – gathering his clothes together, and he doesn't dare to look as they pass one another when Barry makes his way into the bathroom to clean himself up.

He hears the shower start, and Oliver lets out a shaky sigh. He craves Barry in a way that he's never had him before – he craves to wrap his arms around him, to caress Barry's lips with his own, to taste him on his tongue, to map out his mouth in a gentle, sweet caress.

Suddenly, his insides run cold, and his heart plummets in his chest, because it's then and there that he realises it. He's truly, madly, irrevocably in love with Barry Allen, and there's nothing that he can do to make it stop. The worst part is that part of him – the selfish part of him – wants to hold onto that love, and to explore it for all it's worth.

But he can't.

With a heavy heart, he forces his feet to move below him. He reaches for the door, and his fingers tighten around the knob. He hears a choked sob from the bathroom, and he lets out a shuddered breath.

This needs to stop. He can't keep doing this to Barry – to himself. Barry doesn't deserve this – he's too good, too pure, and Oliver is  _hurting_ him – darkening the light inside him.

If he truly loves Barry, he needs to let him go.

Harnessing every ounce of willpower he has left, he twists the knob, and the door opens with a  _click_ . It takes every effort not to close it and return to Barry – to fold him into his arms and let him know exactly how loved he is. Instead, he takes his leave, filled with regret and longing. 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me [here](http://smittenvigilantes.tumblr.com/) on tumblr.


End file.
